


Lego house

by underwoodblood



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Ed Sheran's song, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Being Sherlock, lego house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 01:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13869765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwoodblood/pseuds/underwoodblood
Summary: Sometimes, when Sherlock gets bored, the only thing that works, is John singing, and holding him tight, until all the daemons leave.





	Lego house

**Author's Note:**

> Short story inspired by @virtuvianjohn tweet  
> twitter.com/virtruvianjohn/status/957390856717242369
> 
> I'm not a native speaker, and I know my grammar is tragic, but anyway, I want to write in english, because it's practicing, so yeah, have fun! 

"Bored!" Sherlock shouted in frustration. "BORED!"

A few quick steps to John's desk and he was digging for a gun. Throwing papers, bills, letters, and everything else away, only to find his (not really helping) cure for boredom. Anyway, it was his only escape since John has forbided him using "that damn venom".

John was right. Of course he was awfully right, and Sherlock was perfectly aware of that. But still... He couldn't help himself. His sharp, unique mind was dying of inertness, and his doctor - however kind, empathic, caring, just wasn't able to understand. John tried very hard, and sometimes helplessness was killing him, but what he could do? "What an ordinary man could do with a great intelect's crisis?" - He usually thought. But in fact, he wasn't ordinary, and he was the only person, who could help Sherlock. Just the time to find a method was needed.

Bang. One bullet stucked in a wall. Bang, bang. Two more joined it. In the very center of the yellow smiley face.

"For god's sake, Sherlock!" John just appeared out of nowhere. Messy hair, loose t-shirt, sleepy eyes, and what was the most important - wrinkles. But not his usual, soft wrinkles - Sherlock noticed. These seemed to be traces of anger. They were traces of anger, indeed.

"It's the middle of the night!" John said, and came closer. "Give it back." He lowered his voice, and hold out his hand.

Sherlock gave him a gun, clearly unsatisfied, but without any discussion. His eyes were sadly blue, and face exhausted with unbearable thoughts. John saw it, so he softened his posture. Anger turned into worry.

"Honey" he sighed and placed his hand on Sherlock's arm "I know it's hard for you, but you need to think about Rosie, about Mrs. Hudson... They are sleeping. You can't just... do this."

"Of course. I know. I can't." 

Sherlock got out of his grip, and turned to his room. 

"Where the hell are you going?!" John tried to whisper, but with poor results. 

Sherlock didn't answer, nor stop going. He needed to be alone. Not disturbing anyone, not bothering anyone. He had to deal with it himself.

But John couldn't allow it to happened, so he followed him.

"Go away!" Sherlock yelled, and John was almost ready to do that, as he always did when Sherlock was in "that mood", but then, something clicked. "What if..." What if he would fight for Sherlock. What if the deamons aren't that powerful? What if Sherlock needs someone to fight for him in days like this? He would never admit it, nor ask for it, so John just had to check it himself.

"No" he blocked the doors from closing with his strong arm.

"LEAVE. Now!" Words was echoing across the flat, and John again thought about leaving, but no. Not this time.

He entered confidently and saw Sherlock sitting on the floor holding his head, curls surrounding his fingers. This picture almost broke John's heart. He kneeled, and wrapped his arms around shivering, thin body.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry" he kissed Sherlock's forehead softly. "I could murder someone myself, if it would help." He runed his fingers through Sherlock's curls, swinging softly to calm him down. "...but I'm sure you would find me in a blink of an eye, so it's not the best idea."

John thought Sherlock was slowly coming back to his normal behaviour, but then he stood up. 

"I said, go away." 

"And I said, I'm not going." John also was standing. They didn't already care about people sleeping at the flat.

Detective's sharp gaze was relentless, but John wasn't afraid nor withdrawn. He cuped Sherlock's face. Tenderly, but tight. Like a priceless treasure - too wonderful to mess it, but also too wonderful to loose it.

"You. Need. To. Calm. Down." John started "Not because you are interrupting someone, but because it's destroing you, and I can't let this happening. Do you understand?"

Sherlock shook his head. 

"Don't push me away, I know you, and I don't leave you."

These words made Sherlock's heart beat faster, and pupils widened. He knew John care about him, but he didn't know how much, until then - John standing there, full of confidence, uncompromising. Sherlock was overwhelmed with all this love John was offering him, giving him, not asking for anything in return. John wasn't giving him love - he realised - John was love himself. All made of love. 

Sherlock wanted to say all these things to John, but instead, he only murmured "I don't want to go to sleep".

"Okay." John stroke his cheek "We don't have to." He clasped their fingers. "Come, I'll make you a tea."

They went to the kitchen holding hands all the time. John's strong grip, and Sherlock's weak hand clutched to each other.

Sherlock was sitting in a chair, waiting for John to bring him tea. In fact, he needed John more than tea. Thousands times more.  
For a while, he had been thinking everything returned to normal, but then, that owful feeling started to flood him again.

"John, I need my cigarettes. Let me..." He said with a trembling voice.

"No. No, no, no." John answered. Tired and afraid. "I can't leave you alone for one minute, can I? Come here." 

Sherlock stood up, and John minimized the distance between them. He barely touched Sherlock's lips. Gently, and sweet. Dry, and soft. But after a while, John suddently stoped.

"Now, listen." John said absolutely serious. It was clear, he knew what to do. "You need to focus on this moment. Trust me. You need to feel what's happening right now, fully. Don't think about anything else. Okay?"

"I am not able to."

"Of course, you are." He touched Sherlock's neck with his lips. Slowly his opened mouth was going upward, creating a goosebumps line made by breath. Then, he kissed his closed eyelids gingerly. "Are you focused?"

Sherlock nodded. 

"Good." John sliped his hands on Sherlock's waist. "I'm here, honey. Don't run away anywhere with your thoughts."

"I'm not." Sherlock said, placing his forehead on John's shoulder, and wrapped his arms around John's neck.

They were standing like that for eternity. Swinging softly.

"I'm gonna pick up the pieces  
And build a lego house  
If things go wrong we can knock it down" 

John started with sweet, husky voice, and when Sherlock tightened a hug, he smiled furtively.

"My three words have two meanings but there's one thing on my mind  
It's all for you"

"And it's dark in a cold December, but I've got you to keep me warm  
If you're broken I will mend ya and keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on, now"

Warm words was flying straight to Sherlock's ear.

"I'm out of touch, I'm out of love  
I'll pick you up when you're getting down  
And out of all these things I've done, I think I love you better now  
I'm out of sight, I'm out of mind  
I'll do it all for you in time  
And out of all these things I've done, I think I love you better now, 

I'm gonna paint you by numbers and colour you in  
If things go right we can frame it and put you on a wall" 

The song was perfect. Sentimental, but Sherlock didn't want to think about it, because John was opening his heart for him, singing these true words. without shame, and awkwardness. He wanted to think only about John. His doctor. His conductor of light. His love. Sherlock was overwhelmed by how desperately he needed John. But, good for him, John was there, all for him.

"Kettle." John whispered trying to escape Sherlock's arms. "Water is boiling."

"Jooohn, that's not important" 

He was right, so John sighed, and relaxed his body again. 

"And it's so hard to say it but I've been here before  
Now I'll surrender up my heart and swap it for yours"

And they were dancing slowly, taken out of time. To the sounds of a whistling kettle.


End file.
